


Life in Arcadia

by gnostic_heretic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Class Differences, F/F, Loosely Historical, Romance, Romanticism, Trans Female Character, Wanderlust, romanticized farm lesbian life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15026438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnostic_heretic/pseuds/gnostic_heretic
Summary: Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum.





	Life in Arcadia

**Author's Note:**

> Erzsébet, a rich lady of the decadent nobility, decides to start a journey to find herself and her independence. A little accident while wandering in Nature might cause her more good than harm, contrary to her expectations.

"I didn't know the Duke Héderváry had any daughters."  
Erzsébet fidgeted nervously with the ribbon that tied her bag. She felt the man's gaze on her like a hundred, a thousand of prickly thorns: ripping her skin apart through her hair, her dress, scratching at her face. The people queueing behind her at the checkpoint whispered, muttered, bumped each other's shoulders.  
Finally, he gave her a shrug and put a stamp on her papers.  
"I mean, this has the sigil of the Duke himself, so you're free to go. What are you here for, Miss?"  
Erzsébet took her envelope back and smiled, relieved. Father's sigil had worked, after all- her plan had worked, surpassing all of her expectations.  
"I'm going on a journey, Sir. Wandering, you see! This is my Grand Tour, so to speak."  
The man frowned at her words, surprised. "An unlikely vacation for a lady."  
But at that point, Erzsébet had already walked away from the railway station, but his words had reached her anyway. She took in a breath of fresh air, air that carried the scent of trees and soil and rivers, and the promise of a new start.  
"You'll find, Sir, that I'm no ordinary lady", she whispered to no one but herself.

* * *

 

Erzsébet remembered when the idea had started to spring into her mind, the longing for a quiet place, for the sounds and colors of nature, for the simple poetry of the country landscapes she had only barely gazed at in her life, and could observe closely only in the brush strokes of painters.  
It had started as nothing more than a wish, an impossible one. It had slowly become an obsession.  
Her father, as usual, called her to her noble duties: mostly reminded her of how inadequate of a _heir_ she was, and how she should settle down, get married. Have children, more _heirs_ for his family, for his mansion, his money, his title.  
Erzsébet wouldn't have wished her own fate on anyone, much less to her own children.  
She let him speak, and stood silently in the corner of the room. She heard his words; yet, she did not listen. Instead, she chose to focus on her surroundings, to avoid his gaze at all cost. Her father's office was richly decorated: a carved mahogany writing table, with a gold-plated flower pattern on its legs. A glass showcase, containing the ivory and porcelain memorabilia he had collected during his travels. Under her feet, a persian carpet, custom-sized to cover the entire floor.  
On her left, her father's bookshelf and a painting: a battle scene, the name of which battle she could not recall. And on her right, another painting: a mountain landscape, cold and unforgiving.  
_Just like her father._  
Erzsébet left the room feeling dull as a day without sun. That's how her head felt, how every day of her life felt! The same foggy, cold existence. Uneventful days followed by days just as uneventful, save for a few letters that Roderich sent her from Italy, and every now and then, Gilbert's visits- visits that made her wish for the uneventful day to come, and grieve for the uneventfulness lost.  
That day, however, a letter arrived carried by a maid. It bore Roderich's family sigil: another adventurous story of how he met a young Italian farmer, a handsome and red-haired man. And together they laid down in the countryside for hours, speaking of flowers and laughing and making love.  
Erzsébet doubted the content of the letter was entirely true. For starters, she had never met a farmer who could quote Vergil's Georgics by heart. Perhaps, Roderich thought she wouldn't know where the line came from. _Au contraire_ , she thought, _or perhaps, it is because i have never actually met a farmer that he thinks I would believe this_.  
And yet, while the story might have been only in Roderich's fantasy, she knew that he was happier away from home: away from his duties as a _heir_ , the ones she could not escape. The ones she so desperately wanted to escape.  
Could it be, though? Could she ever be free?  
She knew Roderich's journey was only a short parenthesis, that would soon close for an ordinary life of duty. It was the point of it, according to his father, to put some sense into his head after Roderich had persisted into claiming his affair with a blond kitchen boy was true love, and on threatening to elope. His father fired the guy and sent Roderich to Italy, like a package. To turn him into a man, he said. So that he could have a good marriage, and children, and then take on his father's title, and his children after him.  
Roderich's journey was to turn him into a man, so to speak. And yet, in Erzsébet's heart a certain longing hit like a tidal wave. She wondered if her own journey could finally turn her into a woman.

* * *

 

> _"O fortunatos nimium, sua si bona norint_  
>  _Agricolas, quibus ipsa, procul discordibus armis,_  
>  _Fundit humo facilem victum justissima tellus!"_

_How lucky are farmers, if they know their happiness!_ The beautiful countryside made Erzsébet more sure of this with every step she took.  
The green of the trees and bushes around her, bursting with flowers and berries, and the golden fields expanding all the way to the horizon made Erzsébet wish she had been born there, closer to nature and to all those people who harvested Her fruits.  
It was only her second day of freedom, and yet she was amazed at how far she had come from the town where her train stop was.  
Her feet ached, but it was as if the dull pain was not there at all.  
Walking around with a skirt was not the most comfortable, but she knew it wasn't enough to hold her back.  
Fast paced and tireless, by her third day of travel she had reached a most wonderful sight: a river, a precious stream of clear water among the shallow woods that surrounded her.  
Erzsébet admired it with the bewitched gaze of a child outside a candy shop- _no, that wasn't right!_ This was much, much better, much sweeter. She checked her surroundings quickly, to make sure she hadn't been followed. The pain in her feet, as much as she ignored it, was still there- and the tightness of her shoes really did not help.  
If she wanted to wander more, a moment in the clear, fresh water could have helped.  
She removed her shoes, and her socks, and slowly descended into the river.  
The cool water was a god-sent relief to any traveller, really. She held the hem of her skirt to her knees, standing still as the river flowed around her.  
_I'll have to wash my face too while I have the chance_ , she thought, and after a few minutes she decided it was time to go. She walked towards the shore, slowly, carefully—  
But care is not enough sometimes, and Erzsébet, who had wondered at the gifts of nature until then, was about to learn that as nature gives, so she takes.

It had been two hours since she had mustered the strength to stand up and walk, crying out in pain with every step. And oh, how grateful she was to have taken a walking stick with her— she didn't expect to need it, not like this, for sure.  
Her left ankle throbbed painfully, and she felt it grow worse and worse as time passed.  
But surely, if she followed the river, she would find people.  
That's what she was taught, or what she read somewhere, but she could not remember where.  
_It's all nonsense, it's nonsense, there is no one here!_  
Just as she thought that, she saw something through the mist of tears in her eyes.  
It could be a house, it could be not. She was not sure: it was too far away.  
_The only way to tell is to get closer._  
Slowly, she dragged her foot forward, sweating and crying of pain and anger and _relief_ when she saw that it was indeed a house, a farm, a mill with a beautiful water wheel, spinning slowly with the flow of water...  
She saw the figure of a human, a woman, with blonde hair glowing in the sun and a muddy striped dress the color of tender, pink poppy blossoms.  
_I'm here! Help!_ , Erzsébet called, or she _tried_ , but all that came was a scream as her stick bumped into a rock, and she fell forward, and the world around her suddenly blurred, faded—

* * *

 

When she woke up in an unfamiliar room, she was laying down in a hay-filled bed, wearing only a simple linen nightgown that she had never seen before. In front of her, a woman with a striped dress and short, cropped blond hair was roasting some potatoes in the embers of a fireplace.

She jumped up, startled, clutching the rough bed sheets over her chest.  
_Did she see? And if she did, how much?_  
The pain in her foot was back now, sharp and unforgiving, and she grunted in pain.  
The woman in the room turned her head. She looked at her.  
Erzsébet did not know what to say.  
"Oh, good evening! Are you feeling any better?"  
She spoke with a kind, warm voice. Erzsébet was too afraid to speak, too afraid to let her voice be heard again. She nodded quietly, her hands shaking as she held the blankets tighter, tighter over her chest, until her knuckles were white and sore.  
"That is great! I am roasting potatoes. What is your name?"  
_Yes, what is my name? What do I answer? How would she react, either way?_  
"I'm Erzsébet. Héderváry."  
A hint of surprise passed on the woman's face for a moment, but it was gone in a blink of her eyes.  
"I'm Sofiya. Nice to meet you, _Miss_ Héderváry. "  
Now it was her who stared at Sofiya, her green eyes wide open.  
_Did she seriously not notice?_  
Well, Sofiya noticed the stare well enough, because she immediately blushed and covered her mouth.  
"Oh, I'm sorry", she blurted, " _Ma'am?_ Are you married?"  
Erzsébet could feel her own jaw _drop_. "No, Miss is fine. I am... I am not married."  
"Yeah, that's, um, what I had assumed."  
They sat in awkward silence as Sofiya put the roasted potatoes on a plate. They filled the room with an earthy and sweet scent that made Erzsébet's mouth water.  
"Are you hungry? I made potatoes", Sofiya said, "and ah, I took your dress off because it was... dirty, to say the least. I washed it. It should be dry by tomorrow night, Miss..."  
"Erzsébet."  
"... Erzsébet, yes!", she smiled, "I can call a carriage to take you back to your home. I have a friend... he has a small one, he would be willing to take you home."  
_Ah, but I cannot go home. I cannot go back._  
"I don't have a home... Miss?"  
"Miss is fine, yes. What do you mean?"  
Erzsébet shrugged. "I ran away. I don't want to go back."  
Her answer earned her a raised eyebrow, and a perplexed look from Sofiya.  
"So where do you presume you would go?"  
She did not know.  
"I'll leave tomorrow morning.", she said, and she tentatively put her feet on the ground.  
"My foot is all better, anyway—"  
As she tried to balance herself, she immediately understood that _no, it was not all better._ She fell forward, thinking she was going to hit the floor— but Sofiya's firm grip stopped her before it was too late.  
"Miss Erzsébet, forgive me, but you're not going anywhere like this", she said, gently holding her in her arms, helping her reach her shoulders so that she could sit back on the bed, "you can stay, at least for a week, until you are healed."  
Erzsébet blushed. She had never felt more weak, exposed, embarrassed... and yet, somehow, _safe_. Grasping Sofiya's arm with her hand, she felt her strength, her warmth... her shoulders were wide and strong, _yet so soft_ , she noted as she embraced the curve of her body to reach the bed.The embers in the fireplace made the room insufferably hot, so much that for a moment Erzsébet forgot about her pain, it made her so dizzy she could barely think.  
_One week_ , she thought as she observed Sofiya peel the potatoes, her hands red and raw and rough. _One week, and then I must leave this place._

**Author's Note:**

> Were the Vergil quotes necessary, in the title, the description, the fic? Do I always have to pick latin sentences as titles? No but if you don't think I will anyway you don't know me :'DD  
> Thank you to whoever is reading this- I hope you enjoyed the read, and rest assured that chapter two will be coming as soon as possible!


End file.
